In Nuremberg, bratwurst is an institution, and now a museum exhibit

Nuremberg is very particular about its bratwurst, so much so that itÂ¿s a trademarked product

Mary BerginChicago Tribune

Where bratwurst reigns

The queen of Bratwurst, in Bavaria, is a skinny little thing with fans of all ages. She has reigned for centuries, and nothing about her — weight, lankiness, composition, perfume, accessories — is likely to ever change.

Of course, we're talking about actual bratwurst. Now an exhibit about the long-revered Nuremberg Rostbratwurst fills the first level of Stadtmuseum Fembohaus, the local history museum, and this is a first step toward deciding whether the city should open a permanent bratwurst museum.

One of the exhibit's eye-catchers is a large, propped-up fork whose tines pierce a sausage made of gold; it bathes in a soft spotlight and is enclosed by a globe of glass.

Just as beguiling is the Bratwurst-Preis, an annual award that goes to the most ardent advocates of the sausage. This trophy — three illuminated links in a thick frame, suspended like marquee artwork — "is like an Oscar for the bratwurst," explained guide Alena Borsky.

In room after room, artifacts, odes of love, tales of lore, historic postcards and enlarged portraits spell out what makes this sausage unusual and endearing in Nuremberg and beyond. Lyrics to an 1889 polka pay homage to the bratwurst. So does a miniature Bratwurstkuche, where butchers make sausage in the basement, then sizzle and serve it upstairs.

Six of these restaurants still exist in Nuremberg, and most are near the Hauptmarkt downtown. Many more were in business until bombings nearly leveled the city 70 years ago, during World War II.

U.S. bratwurst typically is made with pork, but that is nobody's requirement. Some versions use beef, chicken or soy. Antsy butchers experiment wildly, sometimes slipping hot peppers, cheese, garlic, bacon, beer or other surprises into the links' casing.

We call them all brats, but what we accept as flavor enhancers would border on blasphemy in Nuremberg, which is strict in determining what makes its finger-sized Rostbratwurst globally distinctive.

Among the conclusions: Each link must be 7-9 centimeters (23/4 to 31/2 inches) long, weigh 20-25 grams (less than 1 ounce) and contain marjoram, mace and no more than 35 percent fat. The sausages are made with pork, chopped medium coarse and stuffed tight into sheep casing.

They are traditionally grilled over a beechwood fire, served on a pewter or tin plate (heart-shaped, ideally) and plopped onto a bed of sauerkraut. Potato salad is likely too. Using horseradish, mustard or both as condiments is fine, but don't ask for ketchup.

Blaue Zipfel is the rare, acceptable variation for preparing these sausages: The meat is cooked in a stock of spiced vinegar, wine and onions, then typically eaten on Christmas Eve.

Nuremberg Rostbratwurst fed the poor during the Middle Ages ("small enough to stuff through a keyhole," is how the story goes). It was the first lunch and last supper for the imprisoned who were kept in dungeons before being hanged.

Today the sausage is as common as our hamburgers on restaurant menus and a popular offering for food vendors at outdoor events. About 150 Nuremberg butchers and four corporations produce about 1 billion links per year.

For a sandwich, it's three links per Kaiser roll. One plated serving means your choice of six, eight, 10 or 12 sausages.

"Twelve?" I repeat.

Borsky shrugged. "If you are a big man, you eat them all," she said.

Evidence of sausage making in Nuremberg goes back to 1462, and the unusual size can be traced to 1573, when production of smaller sausages was one way to deal with increased meat prices.

"From 1 pound, butchers could make five sausages instead of (the usual) four," Borsky said.

The Society for the Protection of the Nuremberg Bratwurst, formed in 1998, ensures that Old World traditions and consistent quality continue. The sausage in 2003 became a geographically protected product, just like Parmesan cheese or Parma ham.

Admirers have long appreciated the difference between this and other bratwurst.

"The sausages in my belly are like forget-me-nots from Germany," wrote Bayreuth author Jean Paul in 1813, after receiving the Nuremberg Rostbratwurst as a gift.

At the museum exhibit, Borsky pointed out a 1938 book full of handwritten restaurant customer testimonials and interpreted one rave review: "The sausages have one mistake — the ends are very near."

Now dozens of museum visitors are adding contemporary sentiments, each jotted onto a paper plate. Among the translated messages:

"No sweets are better."

"We even had them on our wedding day."

"I like them very much, but now I turned vegetarian."

What we have here is an intense love story that has lasted ages, and it's not easily duplicated in America. Wisconsin's Sheboygan can call itself the Brat Capital of the World, but that doesn't make it so.

"Have you heard of Johnsonville Sausage?" I asked my guide.

"Not yet," she replied, diplomatically.

If you go

"A Cultural History of the Nuremberg Bratwurst" stays in place through March 29 at Stadtmuseum Fembohaus, Burgstrasse 15, Nuremberg. A free guidebook explains the exhibit in English. museums.nuremberg.de/fembohaus

Admission is 5 euros (about $6.20). The museum is closed on Mondays, except in December.

Bavaria tussles with Thuringia as Germany's sausage capital. The latter is home to Thuringer Rostbratwurst (a geographically protected product) and in 2006 opened the German Bratwurst Museum. bratwurstmuseum.de

If you stay

Chicago's annual outdoor Christmas market at Daley Plaza is patterned after Nuremberg's Christkindlesmarkt, which dates to 1545. Authenticity of handicrafts is a priority at both locations, and food choices include the Nuremberg Rostbratwurst.

The Chicago market is open through Christmas Eve, and admission is free. 312-494-2175, christkindlmarket.com